Travis Trilogy

Red Tail

TAILSPIN

She’d known the job was hazardous, but the Coast Guard Search and Rescue helicopter pilot Lieutenant Storm Travis learned its true toll when she lost her husband. Suddenly, love seemed an impossible dream.

Then Lieutenant Bram Gallagher, ex-fighter pilot and six feet one inch of brash masculine energy, strode into her life and stole her heart with reckless grace. Flying together, depending on each other for life-and-death decisions, gave them an intimacy soon strengthened by their growing need for each other when they were on the ground.

Bram’s passion unleashed her innermost needs, but Storm knew she was flying blind over dangerous waters…

Red Tail

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

One

“You shouldn’t be here, Lieutenant Travis,” her flight mechanic said as she walked up to him.

Storm thrust her hands into the pockets of her light beige slacks in response to Merlin Tucker’s growly greeting. The gargantuan helicopter and Falcon jet hangar was semiactive in the muggy Sunday afternoon heat at the Coast Guard Air Station in Miami. The sounds of mechanics working on their helicopters or jets filled the hangar. Only those who pulled duty were around. All except her. Storm drew to a halt, needing the familiarity of the sights, sounds, and smells to give her a semblance of emotional stability.

As she lifted her head and met Merlin’s squinty blue eyes, a rueful smile pulled at her lips. “I guess I just wanted to be around something familiar, Merlin,” she offered in explanation.

Merlin’s triangular-shaped face screwed up into a frown as he observed her drawn features. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said gruffly. “Come on over here. I’ll show you what I’m doing.” He looked around to make sure that no one else was near. Five other Search and Rescue H-52 helicopters sat like well-mannered steeds in their assigned positions on the floor of the hangar. Satisfied that no other knowledgeable mechanic was going to accidentally walk by and see his handiwork, he pulled back the cowling.

Storm wandered over, looking up at the turbine engine on the helicopter. “Are you sure you want me to see this, Merlin?” she asked him dryly. There wasn’t another Coast Guard chopper pilot who didn’t envy Storm when she pulled duty with the flight mech. He was the top mech on the base and everyone knew it. They said he had magic in his fingers. And when Merlin and Dave, her copilot, had been assigned to work together, they had always made an unbeatable team.

Her gray eyes darkened with recent pain. Oh, God, Dave…She had to push away all those nightmare memories. Wrinkling her brow, Storm leaned over Merlin’s thin shoulder.

Tucker, who was only twenty-two, compared to her own twenty-eight years, chuckled. Everyone swore it was more like a witch’s cackle. “Now, lieutenant, we’ll just pretend this conversation didn’t happen, okay?” He pointed proudly to the turbine engine on the helicopter. “I’m fine-tuning this bird for your next flight tomorrow morning. She’ll pull a couple more RPMs for you when you need them the most.” He grinned, the gap between his front teeth showing. It was against regulations to make certain finite engine adjustments because even the most experienced helicopter pilots who flew the 52s could overtorque the transmission and cause control problems. But Storm knew the absolute limits of the helo so he gave her the edge. His grin widened.

Storm turned her back on him. “I didn’t see a thing, Merlin.”

He cackled, rummaging back into the engine, grease smeared all over his long bony fingers. “That’s right, lieutenant, not a thing.”

Shaking her head, she gazed across the floor, noticing another person in civilian clothes entering the spacious well-lit hangar. A slight frown knitted her brows for a moment. Who else beside herself would be spending off-duty time here at the base? Everyone else had a family…someone to go home to…share life with. Stop it! You’ve got to stop this, Storm. It isn’t going to do any good brooding about the past. You’ve got enough to worry about now.

“Why don’t you take your day off and go home?” Merlin asked, capturing her attention.

Storm turned back around, resting her shoulder against the clean white surface of the aircraft. “Kinda lonely,” she admitted.

Merlin surfaced for a moment, his normally gruff features softening. “Listen, lieutenant,” he began, “it wasn’t your fault. Lieutenant Walker disobeyed your orders. He should have stayed in the left seat. He had no business leaving the cockpit in that situation.”

Tears scalded her eyes as she stared at Merlin, who was a couple of inches shorter than her own five feet eight inches. Her fingers trembled as she rubbed her forehead, a deluge of emotions surfacing. Why couldn’t she cry? Get it out once and for all? The bitterness of the answer nearly choked her: because she was still recovering from the death of her husband, Hal, a little over a year ago. “I—I know that, Merlin.”

Merlin grimaced and climbed down from the helicopter to rummage around for another tool. He straightened up, resting one greasy hand on his hip as he faced her. “Look, I’ve been in Search and Rescue for three years, lieutenant,” he said, “and it’s not uncommon for a drug smuggler to use any ploy or distraction in order to escape. That poor little kid just happened to be the bait. The smuggler was smart. Not only did Lieutenant Walker climb out of the chopper and try to rescue him, but so did those two Customs agents.” He lifted his shoulders apologetically. “Lieutenant Walker traded his life for that little kid’s. Quit blaming yourself because it happened. Hell, I’ll lay you odds that if you had been the copilot instead of the aircraft commander, you’d have done the same thing he did!”

Pain was lapping at her temples again. She always got headaches because the tears wouldn’t come. The tears just sat there, clogged in her throat, swimming in her eyes. But none of the animallike grief that clawed within her chest would burst forth, relieving her of the horrible anguish over the loss of her copilot and best friend, Dave Walker. “I went over to see Susan and the boys this morning,” she said, her voice cracking.

Merlin’s brows rosé. “Yeah? How are they doing?” he asked.

Storm tucked her lower lip between her teeth, staring down at the concrete. “Not very well.” She closed her eyes, drawing in a ragged breath. “They’re like family to me, Merlin.”

Merlin’s blue eyes filled. “Yeah, I know they are, lieutenant. And you’ve become a part of everyone’s family here at the base.” He offered her a coaxing smile meant to raise her spirits. “I’ve been in the Coast Guard since I was eighteen, and I think the best thing they ever did was bring women pilots into SAR.”

Storm looked up. Merlin was an unmerciful tease when he knew she was up for it. But one look at his open features and she knew he was leveling with her. She was one of three women in SAR at the air station. The other two women flew the sleek medium-range Falcon jets while she flew the helicopters. Merlin had been her flight mech off and on for two years and never said a word about this until now.

“What are you talking about?” she mumbled, brushing the unshed tears from her eyes.

Merlin grinned. “Hey, ever since you got assigned here, lieutenant, this place has really become a tight-knit family. You broke the ice, being the first woman pilot here. Not that we didn’t have a family feeling before. But having women of your caliber around has made a real difference. We all took pride in our birds before, but when you got assigned to this duty section and I got to fly with you, everyone was dying of jealousy. And I mean envy with a capital E.”

Storm forced a broken laugh. “Oh, come on, Merlin!”

“No, I’m tellin’ you like it is. Now just stand there and hear me out, will you? Maybe I shoulda said something sooner. Maybe you need to hear this so you realize how important you are to all of us poor enlisted slobs. The way a male officer treats a situation is different from how a woman officer treats it. A man might bull his way through a situation that requires a little finesse. A woman seems to automatically sense that a softer word will do it better.” Merlin grinned happily. “And I gotta tell you, lieutenant, we all like your touch. There ain’t a crewman here at the base that doesn’t love flying with you. They all know you’re tops.”

Storm felt heat rushing to her face. My God, she never blushed! Completely embarrassed by Merlin’s sudden praise, she became flustered. “That’s strange. I have a reputation for shooting straight from the hip.”

“Yeah, you ain’t one to mince words, lieutenant. But we all value your honesty. Just listen to me—what happened to Lieutenant Walker wasn’t your fault. You’re the best pilot here. You got a touch with a helo that no one else has. Why the hell do you think the commander is assigning the new guy to your duty section? He could have given you a seasoned copilot from another section.” He gave her a satisfied look. “So there! You just stop and think about that before you start nose-diving again. Commander Harrison wouldn’t be giving you a green copilot if he didn’t believe you could teach the young pup the ropes of SAR!”

“Excuse me,” a male voice interrupted, “I’m looking for Lieutenant Travis. Can you point him out to me.”

Both of them turned as if they had rehearsed the synchronized movement a hundred times before. Their looks of surprise were identical as they surveyed the stranger.

Storm had to look up. It was the same man in civilian clothes she had seen at the entrance of the hangar earlier. Her heart took an unexpected beat when she realized he was staring down at her with more than passing curiosity. Myriad impressions cartwheeled across her mind as she took stock of him.

He was tall and broad-shouldered. Or at least taller than she; he was probably around six-one. His massive chest and breadth of shoulders told her he could easily carry the weight of the world around on them if he chose. Her gaze ranged upward from the languid grace of the hands resting on his slim hips to his face. Midnight blue eyes coolly met her inquiring gaze. His face was square, holding a moderately strong chin and a nose with a bump on it that told her, from the looks of him, that he had gotten into a fight at one time and broken it. But it was his sensual mouth with one corner curved into a slight smile that made her pulse race. It was a face molded by experience, with featherlike lines at the corners of his eyes telling her he enjoyed laughing. Lines across his broad brow broadcasted the fact that he concentrated unerringly on given tasks. It was a face hewn from more than thirty years of life and yet, handsome in an unconventional sense.

Merlin chuckled, appraising the stranger dressed in a pale green short-sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans. “Him? This is Lieutenant Travis right here,” he said, jerking his thumb in Storm’s direction. Merlin chuckled again and gave Storm a merry look, climbing back up on the helicopter to complete the task of tuning up the engine.

Disbelief widened the stranger’s eyes as he stared down at her. The sudden thinning of his mouth placed her on guard. Pulling out a set of papers from his shirt pocket, he opened them, the frown becoming pronounced on his brow.

“The Operations officer assigned me to this duty section to be Lieutenant S. Travis’s copilot,” he growled.

She wanted to laugh but had the good grace to curb her burgeoning smile. It was a commonly made error that she tolerated with ease. She was used to being an oddity among the male populace of SAR. And who was this man assigned to her? Commander Harrison, the Operations officer, had said a green pilot fresh out of helicopter school was going to be assigned to her. She had expected some twenty-four-year-old boy. Her gray eyes became somber as she stared back at him.

“I’m Lieutenant Storm Travis. Who are you?”

His eyes flared with utter disbelief. “There’s got to be a mistake,” he growled.

If he weren’t so upset, Storm would have laughed. But right now his looks were turning thundercloud-black and she had no wish to provoke him further. In a gesture of defensiveness, she crossed her arms. “There’s only one S. Travis on this base, mister, and you’re looking at her. Now, who are you?”

He swore softly, looking down at the orders in his long spare fingers. “I don’t believe this. Somebody’s made a mistake.”

Merlin peered across his shoulder, then ducked back to his work, realizing it was a safer place to be at the moment. If that big guy thought he was going to start giving Storm a hard time, he’d better watch his step. Grinning, Merlin kept one ear keyed to the deteriorating conversation behind him.

“Mistake on what?” Storm demanded throatily.

He shoved the papers under her nose. “Here are the orders they cut for me out of helicopter school. I’m Lieutenant Bram Gallagher, the new copilot assigned to Lieutenant S. Travis’s duty section.”

Taking her time, she coolly read the orders and then looked up at him. What an arrogant macho male—

“No one’s assigning me to fly with a damn woman.”

Storm glared at him. “Too bad, Lieutenant Gallagher. The Coast Guard in all its infinite wisdom has done just that.”

Gallagher stared down at her, fists planted on his hips. He had come in a day early before having to check in to find out the lay of the land. At Base Security, he had gotten his new I.D. and decided to wander over the hangar area. This would be his new home for the next three years of his life. A woman? A damn woman was his aircraft commander? Of all the stupid, asinine things! He had heard the Coast Guard was moving to open more slots to females. But he never expected this! His nostrils flared.

“How many women pilots are stationed here?” he demanded.

“Three. And only one in helicopters. Me. Aren’t you lucky?” Storm chastised herself. Dammit, she was behaving like a brat toward him. This wasn’t the first time she had weathered grief from a stricken male ego bruised by her appearance.

He appraised her coldly. “There’s got to be a mistake,” he repeated unhappily.

Merlin chuckled and hunched deeper into the engine. Gallagher glared up at the flight mech and then turned back toward her.

“The only mistake is your attitude, Lieutenant Gallagher,” she reminded him sharply.

Bram took a step back, trying to adjust to the shock. Under any other circumstance, she would have been worth looking at. When he had been walking up to where she and the mech had stood talking, he thought she had nice well-shaped legs. Like a willow, maybe. And when she had turned toward him, her dove-gray eyes had taken his breath away. They were wide and vulnerable-looking, with a hint of darkness in their depths. He had thought there was an aura of sadness surrounding her, but she had swiftly changed her expression, hiding her real feelings. Her nose was straight and clean; face square, holding a jaw that warned him she was nobody’s patsy. Her mouth was decidedly her finest feature, expressive and slightly full. Just right to kiss. But right now her lips were compressed into a stubborn line, and her gray eyes blazed with silver flecks of anger.

In a characteristic gesture, Bram combed his fingers through his short black hair, pushing back several strands that always dipped across his brow.

“Look, I’ve just finished helicopter flight school in Mobile, Alabama,” he stated. “I graduated at the top of my class, lieutenant. And I’m sure as hell not going to be relegated to a woman to help fine-tune my knowledge of flying SAR.”

Storm relaxed slightly. At least he was honest. That was in his favor. She was glad to hear that he was at the top of his class. He wasn’t a slouch at the stick, then. And judging from his penetrating eyes and aggressive stance, he was cut out for SAR. It took more than a very competent pilot, Merlin often told her, to fly well. It took guts. One wrong touch on the cyclic or pull on the collective, and mere inches could mean the difference between life and death. Storm smiled to herself. She liked Bram Gallagher’s hands. They were long and artistic-looking, with large knuckles. Hands that proclaimed his flight ability. Almost every pilot she knew possessed those “flight hands,” and she was no exception.

She grinned. Maybe she shouldn’t have, but Storm couldn’t help herself. “Tell me something, Gallagher. Why aren’t you an ensign or a JG, coming out of flight training? You’re a full lieutenant according to your transit orders.” Besides, he was too old for flight school—past thirty. Her grin widened—two more years and she’d be over the hill herself. Suddenly Storm realized she was actually enjoying herself—at Gallagher’s frustrated expense; but he looked as if he could take a few blows to the chin and live to tell about it. And her heart raced every time he gave her that look. It was a look charged with interest, ferreting her out, examining her, stroking her with his midnight blue gaze. She found herself drawn to him for no reasonable explanation she could think of. So far all he’d done was insult her.

His brows knitted. “Not that it matters to you, Lieutenant Travis, but I just happen to be an Air Force Academy graduate, with nine years of fighter pilot flying under my belt.” He gave her a warning look. “And I was also a major in the Air Force, one rank above you before I left.”

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked, disbelief in her voice. An ex-fighter pilot? This was getting more and more interesting by the moment. Even Merlin popped up and gave Gallagher an incredulous look and then dived back to his work like an ostrich sticking his head back into the sand.

Bram gave her a bored look, noting the confusion registering on her face. She wasn’t pretty in a classic sense. Tall, yes. The ginger hair framed her face in a pageboy that barely brushed her shoulders, and it gave her an outdoorsy look. And she wore no makeup. That wasn’t a detriment in his eyes. No, the natural golden tan of her skin made her gray eyes look like beautiful diamonds. Eyes that he could get lost in if he allowed himself to…. Shoving away all those feelings, he capped his torrid thoughts and brought himself back to her tart question.

“I was assigned by the Air Force to do a study on Coasties a couple of years ago. I got involved in your SAR flying and decided you guys had a hell of a lot more action going on saving lives than I did riding an F-16 around in the sky playing fighter pilot. I quit the Air Force and got a direct commission in this service and learned to fly helicopters. I don’t know how I did it, but I only lost one pay grade. That’s why I’m a full lieutenant and not a JG. It’s one step down from major, in case you didn’t realize it.”

She frowned, immediately disliking his insinuating tone. “I’m not some child that has to be taught military subjects by you, Lieutenant Gallagher.”

It was his turn to grin when he realized he had managed to probe beneath her cool unruffled exterior. So, she didn’t like to be patronized. Good, he’d keep that piece of information under his hat. “Don’t like the shoe on the other foot, eh, Travis?”

Glaring from beneath her dark lashes she muttered, “It’s likely to be the other way round real soon, mister.”

“Not if I have my way. Come tomorrow morning at 0800; I’m going to be in that captain’s office asking for a duty section change. No offense, lieutenant, but I’d much rather ask you out for a date than have you as my AC.”

Storm’s lips parted and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. The nerve! She met his laughter-filled blue eyes. “Tell me,” she spat out, “are all ex-Air Force fighter jocks the same? Overconfident male chauvinist—”

Bram laughed heartily, folding the paper up again and stuffing it back into his shirt pocket. So, she was human after all. Decidedly human. He allowed his eyes to slide across her tense form. Nice full breasts, slender waist, and beautifully curved long thighs. Not bad. Not bad at all except for that vinegar personality of hers. Still, she was interesting. Damned interesting. He’d never run across a woman like her during his service career. Well, maybe after he got his orders changed, he’d make a point of knowing her better. There was no wedding ring on her hand.

“See you later, sweetheart. No offense to you, but I’m going to go find a male pilot to train with. Women should be left to what they do best, and that isn’t flying helicopters.”

Storm gasped, openmouthed. Before she could find a decent derogatory retort, Gallagher turned on his heel, walking away from them. “Why—” she whispered angrily, “that—”

“I’ll add a few more to that list you’re making, lieutenant,” Merlin said, extricating himself from the engine and watching Gallagher walk away. There was nothing apologetic in the pilot’s stride or the way he squared his shoulders and carried himself.

She clenched her teeth, fighting back a few more choice epithets. “Arrogant swelled-headed jock!” she sputtered.

Merlin scratched his curly blond head. “Man, has he got a surprise coming. Old Man Harrison ain’t gonna let him swap duty sections.” He gave Storm a conspiratorial smile. “Cocky bastard’s gonna learn his first lesson of becoming a Coastie—you get put with the best when you’re training.” He winked. “And that’s you.”

Storm groaned, pacing back and forth for a moment. “I don’t know, Merlin. Maybe Gallagher would be better off with a man. At least he’d have more respect for him. Besides, I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to put up with his brand of chauvinistic brutality right now.”

The mech wiped his hands off with the rag he carried in his back pocket. His face was serious. “Look, lieutenant, we’ll back you all the way if he tries to pull any smart stuff. It’ll be a cold day in hell if that bastard starts aiming for you.”

She gave Merlin a weary smile. “Thanks,” she whispered, meaning it. “God, when is my string of bad luck going to end?”

Merlin gave a philosophical shrug of his shoulders. “They say things always come in threes, lieutenant. First, your husband dies in an accident, then Lieutenant Walker, and now it looks like you’re gonna get saddled with a first-class know-it-all who’s ex-Air Force and thinks he’s better than all of us put together.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “Well, don’t worry, lieutenant. We’ll be there to help you weather this.”

* * *

Storm drove slowly down the avenues of Opa-Locka beneath the hot July sun. The city embraced the Opa-Locka airport where the Coast Guard station was situated. She had put down the top on her dark blue MG, needing the fresh air and the wind against her face. Anything that reminded her of freedom. She felt as if she were standing in a square room with the walls moving in on her. A cry uncurled deep inside her and she felt like screaming. But nothing happened. Her gray gaze darkened with anguish and tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

Bram Gallagher filtered back into her mind. She felt a moment’s relief from the depressive grief and trauma. His arrogance bordered on the unbelievable. She had worked with pilots from all the various armed forces at one time or another. Fighter jocks all seemed to be cast out of the same mold—that raucous sense of humor, blended with a self-assured ego. Her own brother, Cal Travis, was a Marine Corps fighter pilot assigned to a naval carrier, and he personified those traits. And Gallagher was certainly no exception. Plus, he had the swaggering walk to go with it. Well, Gallagher, you’ve got a few lessons coming, the hard way.

Still, something had stirred within her dormant heart and Storm couldn’t quite identify what it was. But it was a good feeling and, God knew, she needed something to neutralize the past few nightmarish weeks.

“Bram….” The name rolled off her tongue. An unusual name. Different. And so was he. But he was distinctly male in every thrilling sense. A wry smile curved her mouth. “They ought to call you Ram,” she muttered and then laughed out loud. “You just lower your head and charge!”

Two

The first statement thrown at Storm occurred the moment she swung through the doors of the Operations Center. It was one fifteen in the afternoon and time for the next duty section to take the next twenty-four-hour alert. Lieutenant Kyle Armstrong was at the forty-cup coffeepot when she walked in. The other eight pilots raised their heads in greeting.

“Hey, Stormie, the Old Man’s secretary called over here. He wants to see you right away.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward as she joined Kyle, and reached for a heavy glass mug with her name on it. “You really know how to make a woman’s day.”

“Sorry,” he demurred. “Hey, we saw your boy earlier,” Armstrong mentioned, a grin lapping at the corners of his mouth.

Storm gave him a dirty look, throwing an extra spoonful of sugar into the coffee as a fortifying measure. “My ‘boy’?”

“Yeah. The ex-fighter jock. What’s his name? Gallagher?”

“Quit grinning like a damn coon hound hunting fox,” she growled, lifting the scalding coffee to her lips. Wrinkling her nose, she took a small sip. Couldn’t the day wait even long enough for her to get her customary coffee into her veins and wake up her brain? She had slept poorly throughout the night, finally sleeping soundly at eight A.M. The alarm pulled her out of sleep at noon, and she had rushed through a shower to make it to the station on time.

Kyle, who was twenty-nine and the father of two kids, laughed. The other pilots who were lounging around waiting for the orders of the day to be handed out joined his laughter. “Just a little inside info, Storm,” he said. “Gallagher was over here at 1100 nosing around and asking about you.”

“Yeah,” Jesse Mason chortled. “He wanted to know all about you.”

Her gray eyes narrowed as she turned around, observing her cohorts. She had been flying with all these men for a long time, and they were like brothers to her. “What’d you tell him, Jess?”

Mason, who was part of the duty section to be relieved, grinned. “Not a damn thing. Told him if he wanted to know anything about you, he should go and ask you. I told him how Coasties stuck together.”

It was her turn to smile. “I’ll bet he just loved that answer.”

“Not exactly,” Kyle chuckled.

“Hey,” Jesse called as she turned to leave. “We don’t want him! If the Old Man decides to transfer him to another section, Stormie, we don’t want the bastard. He’s too sure of himself. A guy like that can get you killed. I don’t care if he was top stick in his class—his attitude sucks.”

Chuckling to herself, Storm waved good-bye to them, stepping out into the stifling grip of the hot, humid afternoon. Climbing back into her sports car, she balanced between shifting gears and drinking most of her coffee before she arrived at the Administration building. Now primed with coffee, Storm felt like she could withstand the coming showdown. Taking a deep breath, she entered the air-conditioned building and walked toward the commanding officer’s quarters of Captain Jim Greer.

* * *

“Lieutenant Travis, come on in,” the captain called as he saw her step into the outer office.

Storm entered the large well-appointed office, coming to attention. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Bram Gallagher. He looked breathtakingly handsome in his flight suit. And he wasn’t looking happy.

“At ease, Storm,” Captain Greer ordered, looking up from his cluttered desk. “I want you to meet your copilot replacement, Lieutenant Bram Gallagher.”

Storm turned, offering her hand. Gallagher’s grip was strong and firm but controlled. His eyes were cobalt with veiled anger as he met her mischief-laden gaze.

“A pleasure, Lieutenant Travis,” he told her silkily.

Liar, Storm said to herself. Her fingers tingled from his touch as she resumed her at-ease position, hands behind her back. Greer smiled up at her.

“It’s all mine, believe me,” she murmured, barely able to keep from smiling.

“Lieutenant Gallagher has never worked with women pilots before, Storm. I’ve informed him that in the Coast Guard we’re the least likely of all the services to be, shall we say, chauvinistic.” He transferred his attention to the other pilot. “Storm will be responsible for teaching you all the finer points of CG helo operations, Lieutenant Gallagher. It will be up to her and the Operations officer to determine how much you fly or don’t fly. She’ll help set up a training schedule for you, which will be approved by Commander Harrison, and you’ll answer to her if there are any problems.”

“And if there are, sir?”

“Then you talk to the Operations officer, Commander Harrison.” Greer folded his hands, giving the pilot an icy smile laced with warning. “But I’m confident that if there are any problems, you two can work them out amicably between yourselves.”

“We will, sir,” Storm assured the captain heartily, flipping Gallagher a venom-laden look.

“Yes, sir,” Gallagher mimicked, giving her an equally viperous glance in return.

* * *

Once outside the building, Gallagher reached out, pulling her to a halt. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, lieutenant.”

“Am I?” she asked coolly. Storm forced herself not to react to his firm, arousing touch.

“Yes, and if I didn’t know better, so are your shipmates.”

“You brought it on yourself, Gallagher.”

His features darkened as he regarded her. “I’ve never seen men so protective of a woman in their ranks before. What’d you do, bed down with each one of them?”

Her response was instantaneous and totally instinctive. Storm’s palm caught his cheek in a glancing blow, the slap sounding sharply. Startled, Storm took a step away from him, her face flushed scarlet. She stood there, hands clenched into fists at her side, breathing hard. Gallagher ruefully rubbed his reddening cheek. My God, she had never struck anyone in her life! She began to tremble from the surge of adrenaline flowing through her body.

“How dare you,” she quavered.

A slight grin pulled at his mouth and he gave her a sheepish look. “Guess I had that coming, didn’t I?” And then his blue eyes darkened. “Storm’s a good name for you,” he said in a husky voice.

The suggestive tone was overpowering to her shattered senses. Storm was angry at herself for reacting like a woman instead of an officer who was supposed to be in charge. What the hell was the matter with her? Shape up, Travis, she berated herself. Her gray eyes narrowed.

“It’s obvious you don’t care for me as your superior, Lieutenant Gallagher,” she told him through clenched teeth, “but that’s something you and I are just going to have to suffer through. I don’t like this any more than you do. And what’s more, you had damn well better pay attention to my orders when I give them while we’re in the air. The first time you even think of disobeying me could cause us to be killed. I won’t stand for that. You can hate me on the ground but up in the air, mister, I’m the AC and what I say goes. Do we understand each other?”

Bram stared down at her. He lost his smile, aware of the steel backbone she possessed. The problem was that he liked her as a woman; already she had intrigued him. He had barely slept all last night thinking about her. A new glint of respect shone in his eyes. “Okay, I can buy that, lieutenant. In the air, you’re the queen. I won’t ever disobey an order you give me—that’s a promise.”

She eased upright, realizing she had hunched over into an almost attacklike position. She stabbed a finger toward him. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Gallagher. You jet jocks in the Air Force are used to one-man shows. Here in the Coast Guard, we work as a close-knit team. In the air, I’m not the queen. I’m just part of the coordinated flesh and blood team that’s flying that helicopter toward a rescue. And one more thing. All I want from you is your respect. Hate my guts, but respect the knowledge I’ve accrued.” She marched toward her blue sports car, then spun on her booted heel, glaring at him. “I’ll see you over at the Ops center. We’re due for our 1330 briefing by the Section Duty officer.”

What the hell had she done? Storm groaned, forcing herself to slow down on the way over to the hangar area. Her face was hot with mortification. I’ll bet Gallagher thinks I go around slapping men all the time. Why should she care what he thinks? And that look Captain Greer had given her…he knew the fur was going to fly. She ran her fingers haphazardly through her ginger hair in an aggravated motion.

* * *

The ten Coast Guard pilots sat with their cups of coffee in hand as the SDO, LCDR Mike Duncan passed out the assignments. Storm sat rigidly next to Gallagher. She had endured his stare when he was the last to enter the Operations area. Storm had noticed that all the normal congenial noise died down to silence when he entered. A part of her felt compassion for him. He was new, and an outsider, not only because he was a green helicopter pilot, but because he was from another branch of the service. Grimacing, Storm glanced over at him. His probing blue eyes met hers. She quickly refocused her attention upon Duncan.

“Storm, you get to take those five loads of pallets from supply and drop them over at the staging area.” Duncan, a man of forty with prematurely graying hair, gave her a slight smile. “Maybe you can show Lieutenant Gallagher the finer points of sling ops.”

She nodded. “Okay.” Great, they got the trash run today. Did she have a black cloud hanging over her head or something?

After being dismissed, Bram followed her to the line shack that sat near the Ops building. Bram came abreast of her and slowed his pace. Automatically Storm allowed the rest of the pilots to amble on by them. She glanced up at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just wanted to apologize for what I said earlier outside Admin to you,” he murmured. “It was a cheap shot.”

She bit back “You’re damn right it was.” Instead she shrugged. “Apology accepted, Gallagher.”

An elfin grin pulled at his mouth. “You have one hell of a right cross, lady.”

It was her turn to smile as they walked down the sidewalk toward the line shack. “I’ve never slapped a man in my life. You were the first. And you’ll be the last,” she promised throatily.

Bram pulled the glass door open. The surprised look she gave him told Bram she wasn’t used to that kind of help from a man. Too bad, he thought. I’m going to treat you like a lady whether anyone likes it or not.

All the duty section pilots milled around the cramped confines of the line shack. It sat next to the ramp area where serviced and repaired aircraft were parked.

Storm pulled over the maintenance book on CG 1378 and opened it up. Bram moved beside her, squeezing into the small counter space between the other pilots. She was vividly aware of his male strength, his body hard from being physically fit. Collecting her scattered thoughts, Storm pointed down at the log.

“We always check this to mark any discrepancies or problems with the helo, Bram. It’s up to us to record them and then sign for the helo we’ll be using that day.”

The press of bodies, the good-natured gibing and jokes, filled the line shack. After signing out CG 1378, Storm shut the log, handing it back to the warrant officer behind the desk.

“Let’s go,” she said, giving him a slight smile.

Bram returned it, remaining at her side, and then pushed open the door. The muggy afternoon air hit them as they walked around the corner of the building and onto the concrete ramp.

Storm began to relax. This was her home, the one place where she felt comfortable since the loss of her husband and Dave Walker. Merlin was waiting for them, over by CG 1378, throwing them the customary salute.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant Travis, Lieutenant Gallagher,” he said gruffly.

“Afternoon, Merlin.” Storm smiled, taking the mandatory baseball cap of dark blue off her head. Unzipping a large pocket on her left thigh, she stuffed it in there. The breeze was light, coming in from the Atlantic Ocean, and she inhaled deeply of the salt-laden air. She made formal introductions between Merlin and Bram Gallagher. Storm smiled to herself as both men eyed each other warily. She stood with one hand resting against the white surface of the helicopter.

“We want to welcome you officially to the Red Tail Taxi Service, Gallagher,” she said.

Bram cocked his head. “What?”

Storm gestured to the international orange stripe that adorned the tail of their helicopter. “We’re unofficially known as Red Tails.”

“The taxi-service part is because you’ll be doing anything from hauling groceries to rescuing snowbound families up in Alaska, depending on where you’re stationed. Here in the Florida area we don’t have to deal with snowstorms, but we fight the hurricanes every year.” Her grin widened. “So if somebody calls you Red Tail, you’ll know what they’re referring to.”

He scratched his head. “Relegated to a taxi service, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Merlin cackled. “Oh, one thing we forgot to tell him, Lieutenant Travis.”

She gave Merlin a surprised look. “What?”

“Tell him that we’re part of the Department of Transportation and not the Defense Department.”

“Translated, what does that mean?” Bram asked dryly.

Storm pursed her lips. “It means if you get shot at by a druggie, Gallagher, it’s not considered combat or even war. Since the CG is with the Transportation Department, we’re an anomaly of sorts.”

“A Red Tail and noncombat, eh?”

“You got it right, sir,” Merlin responded. “An elite taxi-service with fringe extras like getting shot at.” He winked. “When we stalk the druggies, we’re in combat.”

“Well,” Bram said good-naturedly, “I was tired of flying a jet around all day. Looks like the CG is infinitely more interesting in many ways.”

Maybe it’s going to be all right after all, Storm thought. She went through the rest of preflight inspection with Gallagher, who became an attentive shadow at her left arm as they walked around the helo. He asked intelligent questions, and she was pleased. There was a new eagerness blossoming within her. Suddenly she was seeing Bram in a new light—as a professional pilot. When it came down to work, he was all business. The wisecracking guy with the arrogant chip on his shoulder had disappeared. Breathing a sigh of relief, Storm climbed into the right-hand seat, the AC’s seat.

“Okay,” Storm called, her voice echoing hollowly within the confines of the helicopter, “so much for social amenities. Let’s get this show on the road.”

A new palpable tension thrummed through the aircraft. Merlin busied himself in the back as they slipped into their confining shoulder harness and seat belt system after donning helmets.

Bram watched Storm out of the corner of his eye. Her movements were economical and spoke of someone who was confident with a job. He gave a small shake of his head. He was certainly going to have to change his perspective on how he viewed women. Because of the peacetime missions of the Coast Guard, there were women flying jets and helicopters and serving aboard the cutters at sea. A slight smile edged his mouth as he threw her a thumb’s up, indicating he was finished with his personal preflight checklist. They began the next phase of checks for the starting of the engine and rotor engagement. Given Storm Travis’s fascinating job as his aircraft commander, Bram decided to try and enjoy the time spent with her instead of creating a chauvinistic rift, which would only intensify the friction between them.

Storm adjusted the slender mike close to her lips, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Merlin was secure in his small chair, which was bolted near the entrance door. He was strapped in.

“If you’ll call Tower, I’ll lift off,” she told Gallagher. “We’ve got five sling loads. I’ll do the first couple of loads and you watch. Then we’ll let you try your hand at it.”

Bram nodded. “Fine with me, lieutenant.” A glint of laughter came to his blue eyes as he studied her serious features. “Sure you trust an ex-Air Force fighter jock?”

She grinned back. “As long as you don’t think this helo has afterburners, Merlin and I will survive.”

Their laughter was drowned out when she flipped the starter button on the cyclic stick, which sat in position near her gloved right hand. The shrill sound rang through the hollow interior of the H-52 Sea Guard Sikorski helicopter. The trembling began and subsided as soon as the engine turbine came up to speed. When ready, she released the rotor brake, and the rotor slowly started moving around and around above their heads. Very soon, the steady noisy beat of the rotor smoothed out, and the 52 sat shuddering and trembling around them, ready beneath her capable hands. After receiving clearance from the tower, Storm placed her right hand on the cyclic stick that sat between her legs, wrapped the fingers of her left hand around the collective and placed her booted feet against the rudder pedals. Pulling gently up on the collective, the rotors punctured the air as pitch was increased and the ship smoothly slipped its hold from the earth.

Bram’s respect for her increased as they worked throughout the afternoon carrying the pallets. The 52 could lift a maximum of eight-thousand-three-hundred pounds, including its own weight, so the pallet loads weren’t large. He found Storm to be a natural instructor pilot. After watching her lift several loads with impressive ease, he tried his hand at it. The wind was picking up out of the northwest, and the pallets suspended beneath the 52 had a tendency to sway drunkenly from side to side. The helo’s movement had to be choreographed with the temperamental load by constant manipulation of the controls. He grew to appreciate Storm’s quietly-spoken suggestions with an air of relief. Although he had been at the top of his flight class, six weeks to learn how to fly helicopters did not compensate for the on-the-job experience that all new graduates had to accrue out in the field.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re an IP by nature?” he asked, glancing over at her.

Storm gave a distant smile. As always, her feet and hands were near her own set of controls. If Gallagher got into trouble, her lightning reflexes would have to save them. On any mission, the other pilot always maintained that position of readiness. “You mean I’m not yelling and cursing at you like the IP back in flight school did?”

Bram liked her husky voice. Her eyes spoke volumes. Her voice reminded him of a roughened cat’s tongue stroking his flesh. It increased the air of mystery surrounding her. He knew nothing of her, and he wanted to know everything—especially now that he had had a chance to see her in action at the controls of a 52. She had what was known in their business as “hands.” Another term used was “top stick.” Even the IP in flight school didn’t have Storm’s silken touch with the helicopter, and it made him feel slightly in awe of her. She was a woman doing what he normally assumed to be a man’s job better than any man he had seen thus far. He nodded, answering her easy question. “Lady, if you had been my IP back in flight school, chances are I’d have flunked out on purpose, just to get another six weeks with you.”

Storm avoided his openly admiring gaze, feeling heat sweeping up her neck and into her face. Oh, God, she was blushing! Compressing her lips, she looked away, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand. “You’re doing fine, Gallagher,” she managed. “Most copilots don’t understand cargo sling procedures, but you’re doing quite well.”

Bram’s grin widened. “Business all the way, eh?” he teased.

Storm refused to meet his eyes. He knew he had gotten to her! He had seen her face turn scarlet. “That’s right,” she informed him coolly, her heart beating traitorously in her breast.

His laughter was deep and exhilarating over the intercom system. “I’ll let you have your way for now. But we aren’t always going to be sitting in a 52, Lieutenant Travis,” he warned her silkily.

Storm absolutely refused to blush again. She willed her body not to respond. Damn his cavalier attitude! Bram Gallagher certainly knew how to get under her skin.

“Hey, lieutenant, I’m starved!” Merlin wailed.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost supper time. Where had time gone? “Okay. We’ll pick up this last load and then go eat!”

“Anything the lady wants,” Bram murmured innocently, but he looked meaningfully at her.

Storm ignored the implication. After the mission had been completed, they landed the 52 and shut it down, unstrapping themselves from their complicated harness system. Climbing out, Storm placed the dark blue baseball cap back on her head once again as did the others. Merlin and Gallagher joined her and they walked into the line shack. After completing his paperwork, Merlin went to the mess hall for some chow.

“Let’s go up to the officer’s mess,” Bram suggested.

She grimaced, giving him a sidelong glance. “We could grab something from the vending machine. It’s quicker.”

Again Bram gave her that infuriating smile that threatened to make her blush. “Because I want to sit back and relax a little, Lieutenant Travis. Or are you going to give me an argument on that too?”

Her gray eyes narrowed. “No argument, Lieutenant Gallagher,” she informed him lightly. Why did she have the feeling he was stalking her?

Stuffing her cap into one the pockets of her flight suit, she walked through the doors of the officer’s mess. They stood out in their olive-green flight suits among the other officers who were dressed in dark blue serge pants and light blue short-sleeve shirts. Storm bridled when she saw Kyle Armstrong and his copilot grinning up at her when they entered. She felt like she had to explain why they were over here and then decided to hell with it. Let them think what they wanted. They went through the cafeteria line, and Storm found a couple of chairs at an empty table to give them some privacy from prying eyes.

Bram sat opposite her, his tray filled. He gave a glance at hers.

“You’re not eating much,” he noted, pointing disapprovingly at the soup and salad.

Storm ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she had a brush right now. She knew her hair probably looked flattened against her skull after wearing the helmet. And then she laughed at herself—why, all of a sudden, did she worry about how her hair looked? She hadn’t before. She met Gallagher’s concerned gaze.

“I like staying at one hundred and thirty pounds, that’s why. Don’t start picking on my eating habits too,” she said gruffly, picking up her fork.

His smile was devastating as he paid attention to his plate heaped with slices of hot roast beef. “Am I picking on you?”

“You know you are.”

“My, my, aren’t we touchy. Are you like this every day?”

“For your benefit, yes.”

“My benefit?”

Storm glared up at him. She felt giddy and happy—but why? It was him. Damn! “Yes, yours. And don’t give me that innocent look, Gallagher. You know what I’m talking about. We’re not boy meets girl. We’re adults. And I can see you coming from ten miles away.”

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully in the silence afterward, his blue eyes dancing with laughter. “Want to play twenty questions with me?”

Storm gave him a black look. “No.”

“What are you hiding from?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because, lieutenant, you seem to feel it’s your right to know me on a personal level.”

He gave her a guarded look, continuing to eat. “I think that’s fair. After all, we’re going to be working together for at least a year.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Bram grinned, knowing she didn’t mean it. He saw the confusion and fear in her eyes and suddenly realized that something must have occurred in her personal life to make her so wary. “Okay,” he said, easing up on her, “I’ll can my twenty questions. Just answer two for me, will you?”

“Two?”

He held up two fingers. “Yeah, two.”

She frowned. “I can count, Gallagher, and you don’t need to hold up your fingers so everybody can see you.”

So, that was it. Bram looked around, noticing a couple of the pilots and watching them with great interest. His face softened and he dropped his hand. “Looks like there’s more than a little interest in you and me by your protective friends.”

Uncomfortable and yet relieved that he understood, Storm blotted her lips with the napkin. He wasn’t as insensitive as she had first thought. “They’re worse than women when it comes to me,” she admitted unhappily. Kyle Armstrong would tease her mercilessly tonight when they all got together at the Q or alert quarters.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “What is this, reverse discrimination? Men being protective about you and on guard toward me?”

Storm shrugged. She didn’t want to tell him that Armstrong and the rest of the guys wanted to see her married again. They were forever trying to fix her up with some eligible bachelor. Their hearts were in the right place, but it was embarrassing. “They mean well,” she told him. “They’re like brothers, you know? Sometimes they get in your hair and become an irritation.”

Bram nodded. That was good to know—she treated them like brothers, not lovers. “Well,” he informed her softly, his voice a vibrating growl, “don’t even begin to look at or treat me like a brother, lieutenant.”

She toyed with the salad, her pulse skyrocketing. “Don’t worry, Gallagher, I’ll never make that mistake with you.”

His mouth drew into a grin. “Good. I’m glad we finally agree on something.”

Storm gave him a warning glare. “I agree with you on very little, Gallagher.”

“That’ll change,” he informed her darkly.

“I doubt it.”

* * *

Storm didn’t want to go inside the Q, which stood outside the ramp and hangar area. Four days had flown by and they were on alert again. It was almost 2100 when she walked outside, heading toward the quiet ramp where the readied helos and Falcon jets sat waiting for the next SAR call. Hands thrust deep in her pockets, she watched the apricot color of the sunset deepening. The colors were spectacular; she had come to love dusk in Florida. Tonight there were a few threatening clouds, mostly towering cumuli, rising like castle turrets in the distance. That meant a few isolated thunderstorms later over the ocean. Bowing her head, she walked slowly along the ramp area, away from the hangar, lost in the world of changing colors that painted the sky. It was lovely, and finally she halted, lost in the display.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” came Bram’s voice from behind her.

She turned her head slightly, watching him quietly walk up to her shoulder and halt. The peacefulness of the sunset muted all her suspicions as she saw awe written across his features. He was just as moved as she was. A small smile curved her lips.

“This is my favorite time of day,” she confided softly, returning her attention to the sky.

“Mine too. That and dawn. I like to see the colors on the horizon. Best time to fly.”

She felt totally at ease with Bram. Four days had worked miracles in dispelling their initial distrust of each other. There was a tender look in his eyes right now. Storm liked the feeling swirling and building quietly between them, a sharing of something far greater than themselves. The apricot hue deepened to an incredible orange that grew paler as it reached toward the darkening cobalt sky.

Bram glanced down at Storm. Her profile was clean, and her skin had a glow to it. There was a faraway look on her face now, and he longed to reach out and touch her. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide, as she continued to watch the spectacle. They stood in silence another ten minutes before he spoke.

“I’ve been trying to find some time today to talk with you alone, Storm,” he said, turning toward her.

Her heart catapulted as he called her by her first name. It rolled off his tongue like a caress, and she responded effortlessly to the tone in his voice. But she also heard the seriousness of it and faced him, a mere twelve inches separating them. Looking guilelessly up into his features, she searched his darkened blue eyes.

“About what?”

“You don’t play games, do you?”

Her brows drew downward. “Games? No. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

He shook his head. “No.” He scratched his head furtively, looking toward the sunset again. “I’m having one hell of a time relating to you, Storm. You’re not like the women I know. Or have known. They’re into their cute, coy games. They don’t come out and say what they really feel.” He gave her a rueful smile. “You come off differently.”

Storm felt defensive about his assessment, crossing her arms. “That doesn’t make me any less a woman, you know.”

He raised his eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way. No, you’re a woman in or out of a flight suit; believe me,” he said fervently. Then he grinned. “The touch you have with a helo is a woman’s touch, not a man’s.”

“Flying is a matter of finesse and sensitivity, not brute strength,” she reminded him.

He held up his hands. “I agree. Listen, we’re getting off track, Storm. I need to say something to you,”

She licked her lips, preparing for the worst. “Okay. I always want honesty between us, Gallagher. Even if it hurts, I want the truth.”

Placing his hands on his hips, he looked down at the concrete between them for a long moment. Finally he raised his head, an undecipherable expression in his eyes as he met her gaze. “First, I owe you a genuine apology for the way I behaved that first afternoon we pulled alert. I don’t normally go around accusing women of going to bed with men.” He grimaced, finding it hard to put the rest of it into words because of the avalanche of emotion boiling up within him. “Last Friday, before I left Mobile, Alabama, to move down here, I got my finalized divorce papers.” He lowered his gaze, pursing his lips. “A two-day drive down here plus the bitterness of the divorce has made me a little sour on women. And when I met you Sunday and realized it was going to be a woman breaking me into SAR, I damn near came unglued.” His blue eyes grew softer as he searched her stunned features. “I was angry at my ex-wife, and I lashed out at you instead, Storm. You represented all women to me in that moment and how much they can hurt a man.”

Storm cleared her throat, unable to maintain his gaze. “I see…” she whispered. Tears came to her eyes, and it surprised her. Why tears? Her heart contracted with pain for him. “Under the circumstances, I guess I can’t blame you for your actions, Bram. I probably would have done something quite similar.”

A slight smile edged his sensual mouth. “I’m finding out all kinds of good things about you, Storm Travis. You stand up for what you believe in, but you’re equally forgiving of others’ mistakes. That’s a nice attribute.”

She shivered inwardly as his voice soothed her. Tears stung her eyes and she turned away from him. Was she going to cry? My God! “In the past year, I’ve found out just how human I am,” she admitted rawly. Rubbing her brow, she managed a small broken laugh. “Just one thing…”

Bram cocked his head, watching her profile silhouetted against the darkening horizon. “Name it.”

“Be just as forgiving with me, Bram. I—I’m kind of on an emotional roller coaster right now because—of, well, circumstances. I might shout at you when we’re in the cockpit together, or—”

He reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder, turning her toward him. It startled him to realize that her dove-gray eyes were filled with tears, making them appear luminous and vulnerable. He wanted to keep his hand on her shoulder but allowed it to drop to his side instead.

“We got off on the wrong foot the other day because of my attitude, Storm,” he told her earnestly. “You showed your professionalism with me, regardless of how badly I made an ass of myself. You didn’t let your personal opinion of me interfere with teaching me the ropes. You’ve earned a big chunk of my respect. I’ll never lose my temper with you when you get a little out of sorts.”

A quivering smile fled across her lips. His touch had been healing and stabilizing to her torn emotional state. Storm longed to have him put his hand on her once again, to simply step into the circle of his arms. She had been a year without any kind of emotional support—bereft, floating aimlessly. And she yearned for what Bram offered honestly and without games. A newfound respect shone in her eyes for him.

“Okay,” she murmured huskily, “truce?”

“Truce,” Bram promised thickly.

Three

The Q, the barracks for pilots on alert, consisted of two double bunks to a room in a two-story structure. On retiring to their rooms, the pilots unlaced their boots and left them nearby in case the duty officer called on two or more of them to assist in a search and rescue mission. The room at the end of the hall was a large lounge sporting several comfortable sofas and chairs gathered around a color TV set. Storm had her boots off, dangling her long legs over the arm of the chair. It was almost ten P.M. and she dozed intermittently, the television blaring in the background, providing the stabilizing sound of human voices.

One by one, the on-duty pilots called it a night. Storm was afraid to go to bed. This was her first night back on duty since the loss of Dave Walker. She had been placed on nonduty status and given time to recover from the emotional shock and loss. It was the normal procedure after air crashes or traumatic circumstances. Kyle rosé and walked over under Bram’s watchful eye, his hands resting on each arm of the chair as he stared down at her.

“Okay, Stormie?” he asked in a low voice.

She nodded, barely opening her eyes. “Yeah, fine, Kyle.”

“Sure?”

Kyle knew what she was going through. They had been close friends since she had first been assigned to SAR. “Yeah…” she mumbled, her arms wrapped across her body, head buried against the chair.

“You look real tired.”

“I am.”

“Why don’t you hit the sack? You’re gonna end up with a crick in your neck if you don’t.” He smiled, but his green eyes were solemn as he watched her closely.

Storm shrugged. She didn’t want to tell Kyle of the nightmares that stalked her every night. “I’ll go in a little while. Thanks….”

He straightened up, giving her knee a pat. “Okay. Good night.”

Dozing again beneath the lamplight and the comforting noise of the television, Storm remembered very little after that. At one point, Bram came over and checked on her before he left for his room, which was situated next to hers. He had gently stroked her hair, crouching down beside her, his blue eyes assessing her worriedly. For the first time in a year, she felt protected. Smiling softly, she mumbled good night to him and dozed off again.

Near eleven, Storm roused herself and stumbled blindly into her darkened sleeping quarters. Drunk with exhaustion, she left her flight suit on and wearily lay down on the bunk. Maybe now she was tired enough for sleep to come without a battle. She was lucky if she got three hours of sleep a night since the accident.

“I’ve got to help him, Storm!”

She shook her head adamantly, gripping the flight controls as the helicopter hovered precariously over the deck of the yacht. The ocean was fairly calm, making the boarding of the ship by the SES drug-busting Coast Guard crew of the Sea Hawk relatively easy. The yacht had a helicopter landing pad on the rear deck. When the request came in for them to assist in the mop-up operation, Storm landed the aircraft gently on the pad. It was an unusual request, but she complied. Merlin was out the door, helping to round up the smugglers and their cache of marijuana and coke. But it wasn’t over yet. The whine of the turbine engine of the 52 added to the cacophony of shouts and orders. She and Dave watched in horror as one smuggler grabbed a small boy who was part of the crew, holding him hostage at the bow of the ship with a gun held to his head. Two Customs agents armed with shotguns slowly approached the twosome.

“He isn’t going to put down the gun,” Dave said grimly, giving Storm a sharp glance. He began unharnessing. “Damn!”

“Dave…don’t go! Stay here. There’s nothing you can do!” she ordered. Her concentration was torn between keeping the helicopter steady on the deck and remaining aware of the chaos taking place around them.

“He’s gonna kill that kid, Storm. I know Spanish. Maybe I can get our guys to back off and I’ll talk him into giving up the boy.”

Before Storm could protest, he was gone. Helplessly she watched as Dave, still in his helmet, climbed out and ran toward the prow of the ship. She bit her lower lip hard, aware of the hatred on the face of the Colombian smuggler. Storm watched as everything in her recurring nightmare slowed to anguished single frames, sending waves of horror through her.

Even above the roar of the 52’s rotor blades kicking up gusts of wind, Storm heard the smuggler screaming shrilly in Spanish as Dave placed himself in front of the boarding crew. Her stomach knotted, and her sweaty hands tightened on the controls. The smuggler raised the gun, aiming it at Dave’s chest. No! Oh, God, no! He was going to shoot Dave! She watched as the ugly snout of the gun barrel rosé level with Dave Walker’s chest. She saw the man’s finger pulling back on the trigger.

“No!” she screamed again and again. Sobs tore from her throat, and she buried her face in her trembling hands, unable to stop the awful sounds from escaping. She was barely cognizant of someone switching on the overhead light, as well as the mumbling and movement around her. Hands, friendly hands, fell on her shoulder, pulling her around, breaking the spell.

“Stormie?” Kyle whispered anxiously. He pulled her upright so she could sit up. A few of the other pilots, awakened from their sleep by her screams, stumbled out of bed and down the hall, coming to her room and standing near Armstrong.

She sobbed hard, embarrassed, realizing she had awakened almost everyone in the Q. “I—I’m sorry,” she cried brokenly. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone…”

Armstrong smiled understandingly, watching as Gallagher made his way through the assembled pilots, crouching down by Storm’s left leg. “It’s okay,” Bram soothed.

Storm felt Bram’s firm grip on her arm. It had an immediate mollifying effect on her turbulent emotional state.

“I’ll take care of her,” Bram told the others, daring any of them to dispute his right to do so. She was his partner. He was her copilot. It was an unwritten law that they took care of each other, and it didn’t matter how new he was. Reluctantly Armstrong released his grip on Storm’s other arm. There was a trace of disbelief in his green eyes, questioning Bram’s motives. He glanced up at Storm, who was trying to wipe away the tears with her trembling hands.

“Stormie?”

“I—Bram will take care of me,” she stammered thickly. “I’m going to get up anyway. You guys don’t need me waking you up again. Especially when we’re on alert.” She rosé unsteadily, grateful for Bram’s assistance. Grabbing her boots, she stumbled from the room and headed toward the lounge. She found a chair and sat down, pulling on the boots and lacing them up expertly out of habit. Bram joined her moments later, his boots already on. His hair was tousled, his eyes puffy with sleep. She felt a sharp stab of guilt as she met his inquiring blue gaze.

“I’m sorry, Bram,” she murmured, standing.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Don’t be. Come on, let’s go for a walk. You need some fresh air.”

How did he know that? The confining area was almost suffocating her. She made no protest when he kept his hand on her arm as he led her outside into the muggy night. They walked away from the building toward the ramp in the distance. Once the darkness closed in on her, she felt better. Looking up, Storm lost herself in the beauty of the night sky. They walked for almost ten minutes before she finally came to a stop and turned to Bram.

“You must think I’m crazy.”

His craggy features were shadowed by the starlight as he looked down on her. “No. I think something traumatic happened recently. I’ve known too many good pilots who had to bail out or lost someone in a crash to think you’re crazy.” A slight smile pulled at his mouth. “You scared the hell out of me, though. I probably rosé two feet off that bunk when you started screaming.”

Storm shakily pushed her slender fingers through her hair. “God, I feel like a fool,” she muttered. “What will the other guys think?”

Bram reached out, placing both hands on her shoulders, his fingers lightly massaging the tenseness out of them. “They were worried for you, Storm. Want to tell me what happened? I’m your copilot, remember? We’re a team now.”

She was grateful for his gentle demeanor. His hands were strong and coaxing to her taut shoulder muscles, and she longed just to fall into his arms. Hesitantly she told him about Dave Walker. Tears welled up in her eyes again as she repeated the nightmare to him.

Bram released her, then lifted his callused hands and framed her face, forcing her to look up at him. His heart wrenched in his chest as he saw the glittering gray diamonds of her eyes awash with tears.

“Look,” he said evenly, “that was a situation where no matter what you said or how you felt, Storm, Dave would have done it anyway. If he loved children that much, you had to expect that of him. He counted on the smuggler giving up the child, not shooting him instead,” he told her softly.

Huge tears rolled down her taut cheeks and Bram’s features blurred. “But—but I lost my copilot!” she cried hoarsely. “I was responsible! I should have done something more—”

Bram’s face tightened, his eyes darkening. “Listen to me, Storm,” he said gruffly in a more authoritative voice, “you did all you could. You sat with a helicopter perched on a yacht that was unstable as hell. There was no way you could shut down the 52 and go out there to help him. The helicopter might have slid off into the ocean. You accurately assessed your duties.” His lips became a grim line. “Quit blaming yourself. You’re human. You did the best you could under some hellish circumstances. You’re damn lucky those smugglers didn’t start firing at you. Hell, you could have been killed too!”

His touch was excruciating, awakening her dormant senses to an agonizing awareness. What he said was true. She knew that in her head. But in her heart—her heart was shattered with the loss of Dave. She had lost two men whom she had loved and cared for deeply in the span of a year. Dave had been like a replacement for her brother Cal, whom she adored but rarely saw anymore.

“Oh, Bram…” she whispered rawly, “I hurt so much inside for Dave’s wife and his children…”

“Come here,” he ordered sternly, and took her into his arms, crushing her against his body. He had felt her hesitate initially but then Storm had fallen against him like a supple willow. He groaned, feeling her softness yield against the hard planes of his body. He placed one hand against her silken hair, aware of her special female fragrance that thrilled all his senses. She buried her head on his shoulder, crying softly, and he held her, rocking her gently in the darkness, murmuring comforting words of solace near her ear.

Finally the tears eased and so did the pain she had been carrying in her heart. The feel of being held was overwhelmingly consoling to her ravaged spirit, and Storm nuzzled into Bram like a lost kitten beneath his solid jaw, content to remain there. Other senses were coming to life within her, though, as she became aware of his steady heartbeat, his male scent, and the strength of his arms around her body, providing her with safety. It was all so crazy. She had known Bram Gallagher less than a week, and here she was in his arms. Somehow it seemed right, and she knew he felt the same way.

Bram stroked her hair. “Better?” His voice was husky.

Storm nodded, not wanting to pull away but knowing she must. Reluctantly she placed her hands on his chest, looking up into his shadowed unreadable face. His cobalt eyes gleamed, sending a shiver of longing coursing through her.

“I’m sure you need this on top of everything else,” she said, her voice hoarse.

A slight smile curved the corners of his mouth. “I don’t consider you a problem, Storm.” His arms tightened momentarily against her, and she became wildly aware of his arousal, her body tingling with an aching fire of its own. “Matter of fact, if you want the truth, it’s nice to be needed again.”

Her heart wrenched as she heard the pain reflected in his voice. He had tried to disguise it with lightness, but she had heard the inflection. Bram was affecting her sensually, and Storm fought to maintain a level of lucidity. Stepping out of his embrace, she said, “You don’t need me crying on your shoulder.”

Again that same smile warmed her heart. “How long has it been since you cried, Storm?”

Touching her flushed cheeks with her palms, she closed her eyes. “A year.”

“I’m glad you decided to put those tears on my shoulder, then,” he said, pointing to the darkened patch on his flight uniform.

She managed a partial smile. “Masochist.”

“You got it. Come on; feel like walking back now?”

Storm hesitated, her eyes widening. “I—I’m afraid I’ll wake them up again with my screams.”

Bram shook his head. He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against him and urging her to walk beside him. “It won’t come back tonight, Storm.”

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